


When Your Mind isn't Hurting

by ClockWorkSymmetry



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pregnancy, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWorkSymmetry/pseuds/ClockWorkSymmetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair has never truly felt domestic bliss, and it's something he isn't used to by the time it finally happens. Warden has had her own share of difficulties, but now that they are finally married, things are so much better.</p>
<p>Confusing, but better.</p>
<p>-<br/>Prepare for angsty fluff and tooth-rot-inducing sugary goodness.</p>
<p>(Yes, I feel bad for Alistair in my other story, gosh darn it)</p>
<p>-<br/>Manyyyyy thanks to ED SHEERAN for having a fabulous song that makes me cry, and I think it totally embodies Alistair. :) *shniffles*</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Your Mind isn't Hurting

**Author's Note:**

> Implied that Warden is Amell/Surana, because magic references/ being weird for her carrying a sword/gun/whateva, but mostly noticeable if you squint. If you don't, it doesn't matter. ^^ 
> 
> Modern!

Alistair let out a huff as he sat up, dark shadows flickering through his mind. Dark spawn. The Blight, all over again. Duncan dying, all over again. And her, running forward in her full combats, albeit weird combats, grabbing the nearest weapon- some sort of gunblade, and running, and stabbing.

And stabbing.

And stabbing.

And his heart stopping as he watched her mercilessly drive the blade into its head again and again and again, her arms wobbling, blood coating her hands, black blood, red blood weeping down her face from a slice in her scalp, a large piece of shrapnel still stuck, her face contorted in a snarl, even as she fell to her knees, still stabbing, though growing weaker, the thing completely mutilated by then.

Still stabbing.

He had to pull the blade from her hands, take the quivering fingers as her tears mixed with blood. “Alistair…” She fell into his arms, and it was all he could do to hold her, his own legs giving out as he waited for the medi-mages to hurry up and get there, because the dull buzz of impeding spawn in his head was gone, and all he could focus on was keeping tabs on her breathing and her pulse, trying to keep her wounds shut, hoping to avoid infection.

Being absently glad when Wynne got there, wittering away in worry, before drifting off himself.

Those dreams kept coming. Even now, five years hence. 

 

He decided to focus, just a little, and sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, absently aware that his wife and battle-partner wasn’t in bed, the dent she normally left behind not present, so she must have left a while ago. He turned his head into her pillow, and inhaled softly, a smile coming to his face as he smelled lemon, mint, and talcum powder.   
Focusing more, he heard her voice, softly singing something along to the radio, and the sound of the frying pan.

“…people fall in love in mysterious ways/Maybe just the touch of a hand…” 

He inhaled again. Bacon and eggs. Toast. He heard her curse, then a surreptitious ‘whoomph’ from the gas that he chuckled at, before climbing out of bed, pulling on a pair of tracksuit bottoms over his briefs, and a shirt on as he padded down the passage and into the kitchen to lean against the doorway, smiling at his wife.

She stood there, ever oblivious, swaying in front of the hob, singing along to whatever was playing on the small portable radio that had gone through the war with them. 

“…so honey now/Take me into your loving arms/Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars…” 

She continued swaying, sunlight spilling through the window above the sink, bathing her in golden light, reflecting off her skin and hair, which was messily piled on her head- she had let it grow. Her yellow dress strained slightly over the swell of her stomach, her feet bare, and she gathered a new spatula from the pot next to the top as she flipped mushrooms, banana and tomatoes, then put toast on plates.

Her voice was soft, a little hoarse from sleep, but still one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard. 

Not as heart-breaking as her screams, though. 

 

“Alistair!” 

His eyes shut as he heard her yell out his name, voice cracking, blood chapped lips splitting further as glass cut across her face, bombs flying, even as she batted them away. He lay there, retching up bile, without any cover, without any allies, being swarmed.

Then came fire, though it miraculously avoided him as she ran through the flames, hitching up combat robes as she tugged him to his feet, dragging him to hide behind an overturned tank.

“…when my hair's all but gone and my memory fades/ And the crowds don't remember my name…”

“Alistair. Alistair! Alistair!!” Her voice kept ringing. It was heart breaking. Why didn’t he answer her? He couldn’t. He tried, but he couldn’t. His eyes were gummed shut with sweat, blood and dust, and his lips were too dry, his throat too broken, air too hard to come by to speak. He wheezed instead, before feeling cool water being pressed to his lips, gentle hands wiping his eyes with a rag, then her arms around him. 

“Alistair, please… You…you promised me we’d get through this together.”

“…'Cause honey your soul could never grow old, it's evergreen/ And, baby, your smile's forever in my mind and memory…”

His eyes snapped open to see her. Lips split and bloodied, and where it wasn’t a grisly red, it was blue with bruising, brown with dirt, or pale. Unnaturally pale. Her eyes though, were full and terrified as she stared down at him, before those damaged, beautiful lips split into a sore looking smile as he hacked, then sat up, accepting a health poultice, downing the foul thing as his good hand cupped her face.

She leaned into it, tears tracking trails through the muck on her face. He wiped them away, smearing dirt further. They didn’t care. 

“If we get through this, I’m marrying you.”

She laughed, even as tears carried on flowing.

“…I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways/ Maybe it's all part of a plan…”

 

He looked at his wife, as she reached up to pull a glass from the cupboard. Straining slightly, her back twisting forward. He stepped up, gently taking the glass with ease, handing it to her. She blinked, looking up at him. He smiled, gently cupping her face, leaning down to kiss her.

His arms wrapped around her then, even as his shoulders started shaking, and those tears that had been hers started falling, kissing her tenderly. She stood there, confused, before she put the glass down, and wrapped her arms around him, returning the kiss.

“Well, I'll just keep on making the same mistakes/ Hoping that you'll understand…”

They swayed slightly, his voice trembling and hitching as she rested against his chest, fingers curling into his shirt like a cat, twisting and untwisting. His arms remained about her, his face in her hair, smelling fresh and clean, not blood and sweat.

He shook, falling to his knees.

“That, baby, now/ Take me into your loving arms /Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars/ Place your head on my beating heart…”

Pressing his head to their growing child between them. She smiled, running her hands through his hair.

“I’m here Alistair.”


End file.
